


in spades

by dustofwarfare



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M, but not as evil as ciel, sebastian is evil, soul-eating is hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2471345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scam artist masquerading as a medium learns the hard way why you don't play games with Ciel Phantomhive. And why, if you insist on having him over for a sham seance, you should really make sure to dust first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in spades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Piscaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/gifts).



> So this is for Piscaria, because she's awesome and has given me all kinds of fantastic things since I found myself in this fandom -- including introducing me to the Kuroshitsuji musical, fic recs, letting me read HER awesome WIP, and loads of other nice things :D And also, because we both agree that evil!Ciel is the best ever >:) 
> 
> I owe the idea of Ciel commanding Sebastian to take a soul to Phoebe_Zeitgeist's AWESOME story, "The Second of our Reign." 
> 
> As an aside: trick card decks were a Thing at sham Victorian spiritualist seances, along with bells rigged with thin wire and shaking tables. also, you really can read tarot with regular playing cards, as Ciel does in this story -- the suit of spades is aligned with the suit of swords. 
> 
> finally, i do not apologize for my "i am Legion, for we are many," reference. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this, Piscaria, and thanks again for being so awesome :D

**in spades**

When it came to games of strategy or manipulation, Ciel Phantomhive was quite the formidable opponent; not only was he possessed of the shrewdness, keen intellect and ruthlessness of a man twice his age, but he never hesitated to make merciless use of the demon who was ever by his side -- a sword harshly-wielded and covered in the blood of those foolish enough to underestimate him. Ciel moved seamlessly through the dark, shadowy underbelly of London’s criminal element, administering the Queen’s justice like some grim avenging angel. 

He couldn’t say he _enjoyed_ it, necessarily; but there was something satisfying about hearing his name spoken like the curse it’d always been, and besides -- if he were skulking about dark alleys and watching Sebastian tear limbs from the enemies of the Crown, it meant he wasn’t obliged to attend social events and, god forbid, dance at any of them. He received invitations enough, thanks to his rank and title, but unless he was involved in some investigation that required information-gathering from society’s elite....thankfully, he could send his regrets and that was that. 

But the latest case he was assigned by Her Majesty involved a group of young, unmarried noblewomen who had all mysteriously vanished from Town for the remainder of the season, _after_ giving a large sum of money to some charlatan who called himself a _spiritualist medium and psychic protector_. Apparently the materials that this so-called spiritualist savior needed in order to ensure the young ladies’ safety were not cheap, and the money had to be discreetly delivered lest the _entities of the underworld_ learn of the man’s location and, through him, the location of each fragile, terrified woman whom he’d sworn to protect. 

Or something like that, anyway. It all made very little sense to Ciel, who privately thought anyone stupid enough to believe such nonsense deserved what they got -- whether it be debtor’s prison or the curse of an entity of the underworld. (He had, after all, fared quite well when it came to entities of the underworld)

But it was not his place to question Her Majesty, or the cases to which he was assigned on her behalf. So he found himself in attendance at a dizzying array of social events in order to ferret out the culprit’s name, also kept a guarded secret by his victims; soirees, balls, even an _afternoon recital_ , at which he’d been forced to listen to the Marquis of Eislington’s horribly tone-deaf daughter sing some trite song about the joys of God’s grace and the promise of heaven. 

(Ciel had, at one point during the interminable performance, leaned over and murmured to Sebastian, “If this is the music that plays amidst the celestial realms, I shall be doubly glad to have damned myself out of an eternity spent listening to it.”

“And I shall likewise send thanks to my lord in Hell,” Sebastian had murmured back, until they were shushed by a matron sitting in front of them.)

As it happened, the identity of the man he sought was delivered into Ciel’s hands by none other than his fiancee Elizabeth; she had told him, quite enthusiastically, all about the spiritualist gathering to which she’d been invited while they’d taken a turn around the Northcotte’s ballroom. “I’ve never been to a proper seance,” she’d said, blonde curls bouncing about as he tried to execute a natural turn along with the music -- and nearly avoided running straight into a potted plant. “I wonder what I am supposed to _wear_?” 

Ciel made appropriate noises (including a clueless one to that particular question, as how was he supposed to know? He didn’t select his own wardrobe, how on earth would he have any idea how to select _hers?_ ) and smiled when he was supposed to, and if Elizabeth ever noticed how his smiles never seemed quite right, she never made mention of it. 

Ciel did not love Elizabeth; his ability to do so had survived neither the cage nor the altar, nor the fire that had come before. But Elizabeth loved him, he knew that, and though it might have been only the remnants of childhood affection and perceived duty motivating her actions...he still would not repay her loyalty by allowing some charlatan to embarrass or humiliate her. Which meant it was time to bring this foolishness with the spiritualist to an unquestionable end.

However, no matter how hard he tried, Ciel could not get her to divulge the name of the so-called medium. Their dance was rapidly drawing to a close, and when all of his inquiries ended in her giving him some variation of, “Silly! I told you, it’s for ladies only and -- isn’t this so _mysterious_ , Ciel! -- we’re not supposed to tell anyone his name, lest unkind spirits follow us there!”, Ciel knew it was time to employ a more devious method to get the information he wanted. 

And since Ciel was already damned, he thought nothing of widening his one visible eye at Elizabeth and saying, in a voice trembling with false emotion, “I only wanted to know so that I might -- my parents -- maybe I could go sometime and ask him...never mind.” 

That was all it took; Elizabeth launched herself at him and nearly toppled them over into a punch bowl, her arms wrapped tight around his neck as she kept saying, “Oh, Ciel, _oh_ ,” over and over, and then, just when he was certain he would either be strangled or go mad, she sniffled and said into his ear, “It’s Stuart Danvers, but don’t tell anyone I told you!” 

Bloody _finally_. Ciel had fetched his fiancee some lemonade, allowed her to fuss over him until he simply couldn’t take it anymore, then made his farewells to Elizabeth and her mother and gratefully escaped into the cool night air with his butler. 

“Stuart Danvers,” he’d said, as soon as Sebastian had him settled in the carriage. “Find him, Sebastian.” 

And find him his demon had.  
* * * 

Stuart Danvers was a former actor with a penchant for penny dreadful novels and a vast amount of debt, all of which had been accrued at the gaming tables in an effort to make a quick fortune. His plan had been to filch money from the daughters of the nobility, whom he believed to be nothing but spoilt, fluff-brained drains on society who served no true purpose but to breed more of the same. (As opposed to sham mediums who conducted false seances in order to scam his guests out of money, who were apparently the pillars of society.) Ciel had easily talked himself into Danvers’ home for a seance, simply by employing the same method as he had with Elizabeth; though of course, Danvers saw only an opportunity for easy money, as he seemed to think the children of nobles were as useless as their mothers. Ciel hated, _hated_ to be taken for a child, but he was not above using such an assumption if it helped him achieve his desired ends. 

The seance to which Danvers treated him was, in addition to being dreadfully expensive, predictable and downright boring. Danvers had a few impressive tricks, all of which Ciel had seen at one point or another. They were certainly not legitimate supernatural occurrences (which Ciel knew a thing or two about), and Ciel was constantly fighting back a sneeze from all the dust permeating the room, thanks to all the incessant _rattling_ that was involved in a sham-seance. 

Ciel endured this torture long enough to ascertain that the man was indeed a fraud, then interrupted Danvers -- who was blindfolded for some reason or another, Ciel hadn’t really been paying attention as to _why_ \-- in the midst of his automatic writing, which, since it also involved a great deal of table shaking, resulted in even more dust. 

“Sebastian,” said Ciel, fighting back a sneeze. “Come to me.” 

“He is here,” Danvers intoned in a deep voice, misunderstanding Ciel’s command as directed to one not-of-this-world. Which was technically true, but as they said, the devil _was_ in the details, was he not? 

The devil was _also_ standing in the dark space between Ciel’s chair and Danvers; Ciel held a finger to his mouth to indicate his demon should be silent as Danvers continued. “I shall relay his messages to you, for he says he misses you, his beloved child.” 

“Dear me,” Ciel said, sadly, affecting the tone of a heartbroken child. “There must be some mistake. Sebastian isn’t my _father_. Perhaps this is someone _else’s_ Sebastian.” 

“No, no,” Danvers assured him, quickly. “This is your Sebastian, it is only that he….thinks of you as his child. A beloved child, whom he watches over from the _beyond_.” 

“How horribly inappropriate of him.” Ciel’s nose twitched dangerously, and he held out a hand towards his butler. 

Sebastian wordlessly handed him a handkerchief, into which Ciel promptly sneezed three times in a row. 

“Sebastian blesses you, Lord Phantomhive,” Danvers said, doing something that made the table shake yet again. 

Ciel met his demon’s amused, gleaming eyes. “I doubt that very much, Danvers.” He sneezed again. “It is a shame you did not summon a cleaning service before concentrating your efforts on the spirit world.” 

“Ah, my lord. You see, the beings of the otherworld are very particular. They prefer dark, dusty corners in which to hide. It reminds them of their own cursed dimension.” 

Sebastian narrowed his garnet eyes reproachfully at Danvers. He looked offended. 

“Is that so? In my experience, it’s been the opposite. And rather fussily so,” Ciel said, drolly. 

“Sebastian’s presence is very dim,” Danvers said, ignoring him and trying to recapture the moment. “I shall try and channel him for you, my lord, but you must be very quiet. My strength wanes.” 

Ciel rolled his eyes but said nothing, merely inclined his head slightly at Sebastian, who moved with effortless grace to stand behind Danvers. He was rather good at _looming_ , Sebastian. Ciel could appreciate that, when the blasted demon wasn’t looming over _him_.

“Sebastian, spirit of the otherworld, you have been called by this tormented and broken child --” 

Ciel drummed his fingers on the table, which proved to be a mistake when it sent a small torrent of dust up to tickle at his nose. 

“--- to ease this poor little lamb’s suffering, to shepherd him, as lost and alone as he is…” 

Ciel’s fingers itched with the urge to take his pistol from his coat pocket. He glared at Sebastian, because of course the smug devil looked vastly amused and did nothing to halt Danvers overwrought monologue. 

“Sebastian, give us a sign of your presence….” 

A little brass bell rose a few inches in front of him. Ciel put his elbows on table and rested his chin in his hands. “How extraordinary,” he said, flatly. “The bell has lifted all by itself.” 

“It is because Sebastian is now with us in this realm,” Danvers preened, sounded smug. “Quickly, my lord, we have little time with him. Ask your questions, before he vanishes into the ether. He shall answer with one ring of the bell for _yes_ , two for _no_.” 

Heartily tired of this entire thing, and at his limit when it came to breathing in dust, Ciel demanded crankily, “Sebastian, do bring this little charade to an end, would you? I’ve spent far too much time playing along as it is.” 

Sebastian reached out and nimbly caught the hidden line that connected the bell to whatever contraption Danvers had rigged up to control it, then made it ring once before snapping the line and sending the bell tumbling back to the table with a thud. “As you wish, my lord.” 

At the unfamiliar voice so close to his ear, Danvers gave an undignified squeak and pulled the blindfold off in a hurry -- and a gun from somewhere behind the table, which he aimed at Ciel and Sebastian in turn. “And who the devil are _you_?” 

Sebastian smiled, eyes starting to burn and pupils slitting while the candles in the room extinguished, one by one, until there was only one left -- right in the middle of the table, closest to Ciel. 

“Me? Why, I am simply one hell of a butler,” Sebastian said, with obvious relish. 

“ _Baaaaa_ ,” said Ciel, deadpan. “Restrain him, Sebastian. And do something about all this _dust_ , it is _intolerable_.” 

Sebastian bowed. “Yes, my lord.” 

The last candle died, plunging the room into darkness. 

* * * 

When the candles flared improbably back to life, Danvers was splayed on the table (which was no longer shaking, and, Ciel noticed, had been thoroughly dusted), his extremities bound by rope and tied to the table legs, the blindfold wrapped neatly around his mouth to serve as a gag. 

Sebastian stood half-hidden in the darkness, sly red eyes glowing faintly.

Ciel picked up the fallen brass bell from the table and gave it a ring. “I do not think the sound I made to summon you from Hell was as pleasant as this, demon.” 

“That, my lord,” Sebastian murmured, “Is a matter of opinion. I found it quite enjoyable.” 

Ciel gave a little snort and rang the bell once more before settling it gently on the table. “Still, this is barely sufficient to summon you from the kitchens with my tea. What sort of spirits would heed such a call?” 

“Dull ones, little master,” said Sebastian, sounding amused. "Of no possible interest or use to you." 

Danvers made a muffled sound behind the silk, eyes wide. He was clearly trying to talk. Ciel ignored him and picked up a deck of cards from the table instead, shuffling them thoughtfully. 

“Did you know you could read fortunes with playing cards, Danvers?” Ciel stroked the deck with his fingers, ran the edge of his thumb over the creases of the cards, pleased to find all the tell-tale signs that it was a trick deck. One did not run a toy company without manufacturing a few magic tricks. 

One also did not contract with a demon without picking up a taste for the theatrical. Ciel leaned closer to Danvers, who was still mumbling behind his makeshift-gag. “What was that? No? Perhaps you should have read a book on the subject. One wonders how many more dowries you could have fleeced, had you bothered to perform some additional research.” 

He held the cards out towards Sebastian. “Here, I shall show you how it is done. Sebastian, shuffle the cards for me, please.” 

Sebastian chuckled in the dark, which made the hair stand up pleasantly at the back of Ciel’s neck. Danvers, on the other hand, began twisting in his bindings and trying to get away from the source of that unholy sound. 

_A matter of opinion, indeed_. 

“The first card I shall show you represents you and your current situation. The second is the obstacle that you are facing, and the third represents the likely outcome. The fourth and final card shall tell us how to proceed for that outcome to be achieved -- or avoided.” Ciel held his hand out. “Sebastian.” 

“Here you are, my lord.” Sebastian presented him with the stack. As he drew his hand away, the edge of his gloved fingers caressed Ciel’s own, a whisper of white silk against black kid leather. The touch was enough to make Ciel shiver, a little, and he could feel his marked eye begin to burn. 

“Recall that this card is your current situation.” Ciel drew the first card from the deck and tucked it between two fingers, flipping it around to show Danvers. “The two of spades. Fear and hopelessness, consumed by doubts. That seems very appropriate for you at the moment, don’t you think so?” Ciel placed the card on the table and drew another one. 

“The king of spades represents the obstacle currently in your way -- a decisive man undeterred by emotion or pity.” Ciel smirked, waving the card at Danvers. “Not a lost lamb, as it were.” 

“And the third card, the forecasted outcome of your situation.” Ciel drew another card from the deck, making a slight _tsking_ sound as he saw what it was. “Oh, dear. The nine of swords. They say this is the most feared card in the entire deck. It symbolizes a nightmare, terror from which one cannot escape. How unfortunate.” 

The air in the room began to change, thickening and becoming colder. Something rustled in the dark -- wings, perhaps, or the soft sound of a silk glove falling to the ground. 

Ciel held the pack of cards towards Sebastian once more. “Since you are so fond of the otherworld, Danvers, perhaps a true denizen thereof should select your final card.” 

A human hand tipped with black nails reached out for the card, drawing one with slow, deliberate precision; but it was returned to Ciel face-up, gripped between two obsidian talons. When Ciel took the card, he mimicked the caress from earlier, sliding his thumb along the sharp edges of Sebastian’s talons. 

His demon hissed softly in the darkness. 

As Ciel lay the card down on the table, a single black feather drifted down to lie atop of it. 

_Honestly, Sebastian, you and your aesthetics._

“The ten of swords,” said Ciel, as he picked up the feather and drew the edge across his bottom lip, back and forth, while he studied the card for a moment in mock consideration. “You may take comfort from knowing that your nightmare will indeed come to an end.”

Ciel reached out and pulled the gag from over Danvers’ mouth. The man made a pathetic sort of whining noise, gasping, “You -- what is that -- who _are_ you?” 

“Ciel Phantomhive,” Ciel answered, still playing with the feather, perching on the edge of the table. “I did present you my card, did I not?” 

Danvers’ eyes flitted towards the darkness. “That --”

“Is my very own shepherd,” Ciel finished for him. “My demon, who is, by the way, also my butler. And who does not appreciate dust in the slightest.” 

“Why are you here?” Danvers demanded, wildly. “Aren’t I to be taken to prison, shouldn’t there be some kind of trial….?” 

Ciel gave a soft, cruel laugh. “Not when they send me, Danvers.” 

“You can’t mean to _kill_ me,” Danvers snapped, sounding irritated. “I didn’t hurt anyone! I’ll pay them back! Good lord, it was just _money_! Surely a person’s life is worth twice -- no, three times -- what I took!” 

Ciel had a vague memory of lying on the floor, still choking from the smoke that burned in his lungs --

 _Shall we get him now? He will go for a good price!_

\-- and later, the hungry, glazed eyes of the man who bought him and put him in a cage to die-- 

_This is worth more than two people!_

“You would be surprised,” Ciel said softly, “at how little a human life is really worth.” His eyes met Sebastian’s. “A soul, however….” Ciel traced the feather over his mouth again, slower this time. 

Danvers, likely thinking this was some kind of joke, gave an irritated huff. “This is absurd. What is it you want, if not my life? Money? Fine, I’ll give you half. Or, if you want more.…” Danvers gave Ciel a hopeful look. “You, me, and that butler of yours….we could make six times what I managed to do on my own. Wouldn’t you rather be rich than a murderer?” 

“An attractive offer. But as it happens, I am already both.” Ciel picked up the deck and shuffled through it until he found the card he wanted. “Sebastian.” 

“Yes, my lord?” Sebastian’s eyes were cinder-bright, and Ciel could see the gleam of his fangs in his hellish smile.

Ciel tossed the card at him, which Sebastian caught deftly. His eyebrows raised. “The ace of spades.” 

“You know the meaning, of course.” Ciel took a step back from the table. 

(It was Sebastian who taught him how to read cards, finding Ciel one night in the library, playing solitaire by the light of a dying fire. _Let me show you something that might engage your clever mind a bit more, my lord,_ he’d said, and the lesson was accompanied by a fantastic tale of gypsies and times long past, which Ciel was not entirely sure he believed but found mildly entertaining nonetheless. Shortly thereafter, Sebastian found another way to help Ciel sleep when the night was too dark and the shadows too many, and cards were abandoned in place of other games.) 

“I do,” the demon said. “The card symbolizes the Reaver.” 

Ciel reached up and slowly pulled the tie of his eyepatch, the glow of his contract seal fierce and violet in the dim room. “Sebastian. Take his soul. This is an order.” 

“My -- my lord?” Sebastian asked, sounding briefly confused. 

Ciel smiled, pleased. _Ah, demon. Do not think you know my every move before I choose to make one._ “You heard me, Sebastian. His soul. Take it. You _can_ do that, can you not? If I order it?” 

“Yes,” Sebastian said, very slowly. “But swallowing another soul shall not sate the hunger I have for _yours_.”

“I should hope not. I am a delicacy, a four-course meal that deserves to be savored. This…” Ciel waved a dismissive hand at Danvers. “This is more like a meat pie, purchased from a street vendor. Barely tolerable, but filling.” 

Sebastian’s head cocked, like a curious bird. “I was not aware young master had consumed a meat pie -- much less anything from a street vendor -- in his entire young life.” 

“Damned demon,” Ciel growled, arms crossing over his chest. “You are missing the point of my metaphor.” 

“I believe it was a _similie_ , my lord.” 

Ciel tapped the heel of his shoe on the floor in irritation. “Now is not the time for a lesson in grammatical correctness, demon. I would be offended if the soul of this low-born scum was anything _close_ to mine. I’m not attempting to ease your hunger, I simply want him dead.” 

“It is quite a brutal sentence, my lord. To kill a man is one thing. To take his soul is to remove him from existence, obliterate the life that comes after.” 

Ciel narrowed his eyes at Sebastian. “Has this ever stopped you before, devil?” 

“No, my lord. I suppose it has not.” 

“Then why should it stop _me_? I am damned to the same fate. It is not as if I do not know what I have commanded, and I _have_ commanded it, so let it be done.” 

Sebastian bowed. “I shall do as my lord commands, of course. But I would have you understand, young master, that when the time comes and the soul I am to swallow is yours...there shall be no comparison, to what you will see here.”

“I should hope not. Now hurry and do as I have commanded, Sebastian,” Ciel ordered, flipping open his pocket watch. “I’ve spent too much time here already.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Ciel felt their bond like a cold chill down his spine as the contract mark flared on Sebastian’s hand, bright enough to match Ciel’s own. 

A curious, sick excitement took him as he watched Sebastian move towards the bound man on the table. 

_Like a sacrifice on an altar_ , Ciel thought, and smiled humorlessly. _There but for the devil’s damnation go I_. 

Sebastian went from standing next to Danvers to _hovering_ above him, an odd sight indeed considering he was still in his human form. Something dark was gathering at the base of the demon’s spine, spreading slowly across his back. 

Danvers began to scream again. Ciel rubbed at his temples with his fingertips. “Sebastian. That noise is grating on my nerves.” 

Sebastian cut his eyes over towards him, looking so malevolent that Ciel had to resist taking a step away. “Yes, my lord,” he said, and his eyes flashed hellfire and his pupils slitted, and Ciel saw a _horrible_ smile stretch across Sebastian’s face before the demon lowered his head. 

It looked for a moment as if Sebastian were _kissing_ Danvers, a sight Ciel did _not_ enjoy in the least, and suddenly it felt as if all the air in the room was removed in one single, nauseating instant. The effect was such that it was hard to breathe, and Ciel worried for a moment he was having another asthma attack. Even so, it would have been impossible to drag his gaze away from what was happening on the table. 

There was a rustling sound, and the shadows gathering at Sebastian’s back unfurled at once into great, dark wings. Ciel’s contract mark was blinding, and he had to cover his eye with one hand so he could still see. The sheer _evil_ emanating from Sebastian made Ciel’s own black heart and damned soul seem positively harmless by comparison. For a moment, Ciel felt less like a demon’s master and more like the lost little lamb Danvers had likened him to, because how could any mere human think to have mastery over a being like _that_?

 _But I do,_ thought Ciel, tasting the frantic race of his heart in his throat and forcing his breathing to even out. _I do. Until the moment our contract is fulfilled, this creature -- this marvelous, vile, evil creature -- belongs only to me, and is subject to my will and mine alone. Only a fool is afraid of his own weapon, and damned though I might be, I am certainly not a fool._

Sebastian’s form shifted, bleeding into those dark wings that continued to beat, louder and louder, and Ciel could just make out the edges of talons holding Danvers head still while the man thrashed in his bonds. Ciel thought maybe he saw _horns_ on Sebastian’s head -- _that’s new_ \-- but before Ciel could get closer to investigate there was a horrible sucking noise, followed by the sound of something being torn and ripped apart. 

Stuart Danvers scream of pure terror and _anguish_ was utterly chilling and almost painful to hear….and then, abruptly, it stopped. 

Through the strength of their contract bond, Ciel was assaulted by sudden, growing _pressure_ and a feeling of fullness, like he was an over-inflated balloon. Every nerve in his body felt as if it were on fire, and it was….oh, there were no words, it was both agonizing and delicious at the same time, and it kept growing and growing until it overwhelmed him completely, driving him to his hands and knees on the floor. 

Ciel was panting and terrified and so aroused he was trembling. He struggled to lift his head so that he could see what happened at the end, because this _was_ the end, he could feel it, the fullness inside of him was pressing against every part of his being and it wanted _out_ \-- 

The demon shrieked; the sound was strangely avian in nature, similar to the cry of a hawk warning other predators away from its kill. When the demon swallowed the soul it had taken, Ciel knew it immediately -- and the sudden release of all that tension was too much. His forehead dropped once more to the floor and he came so hard he nearly blacked out. 

A few moments passed; Ciel could hear himself breathing harshly, but there was no other sound in the room. Ciel finally managed to lift his head and saw Sebastian, perfectly composed in his livery and white gloves (no wings or a beak or _horns_ ), standing in front of the table. 

“Young master,” Sebastian said, going quickly to kneel before Ciel and help him to his feet. “My, look how disheveled you are. Am I to assume you found that… _enjoyable_?” 

“It was more entertaining than Danvers’ seance,” said Ciel, trying for his usual disdainful sniff. He was only somewhat successful. 

Sebastian’s eyes flickered down to the wet stain on the front of Ciel’s trousers, and he gave Ciel a sly little smile before turning his attention to making Ciel look presentable. 

Ciel watched him with uncharacteristically frank regard, looking closely at the familiar features of his faithful butler -- the pale skin, the smooth jaw, the dark black hair worn just a little too long and hanging attractively over his eyes. 

Eyes that, even when they weren’t full of hellfire and sporting split pupils, were an arresting and uncommon shade -- like mud soaked through with the blood of thousands. 

Sebastian, sensing he was being examined, raised his head and met’s Ciel’s eyes with his own. “My lord?” 

“I don’t know how anyone looks at you, even in this form, and thinks you’re human,” Ciel said, gruffly, running one hand through the demon’s soft, dark hair. _Dark hair, dark feathers, dark wings._

Sebastian shrugged. “Humans see what they wish to, my lord. One does not generally expect demons to _exist_ , much less masquerade in the form of a butler.”

“Do you even _have_ a true form?” Ciel asked, tugging sharply on Sebastian’s hair. 

Perhaps it was the thing he’d just witnessed, but Ciel was acutely aware of the thing that lived _behind_ Sebastian’s human facade; the thing that manipulated this form like a puppet, that threw its head back and _shrieked_ in triumph when it fed. 

The thing that peered at Ciel from what Ciel realized were not eyes, but portals to Hell itself. “I do, my lord, but it is not easy to explain to you what it is. You translate what you see into things you understand. You cannot understand what I am, so you do not see me thus.” 

Sebastian’s pleasant, mild expression vanished -- but rather than make him look cold or evil, it simply made him look _blank_. 

An empty husk, like the dead man behind them on the table. 

_And there by the devil’s damnation shall I go._

Ciel removed his hand from Sebastian’s head. “If I could see beneath whatever dark magic created my manor, would it be made of the same thing you are?” 

“Yes,” the thing that was Sebastian said. 

Ciel shivered from a sudden chill, then raised his chin. It did not matter. He would not be afraid, he knew this creature was to be the death of him. And as terrifying as it was, it was indeed magnificent, and how many on this earth could say they’d seen anything like it? 

“I should like to see what you truly are, demon,” Ciel said, softly, looking down at the feather that had fallen to the floor from his hand. “Just once, before the end.” 

Sebastian put two fingers beneath Ciel’s chin, tilting it up so he could look down at Ciel. “And so you shall, little master. Because what I really am.... _is_ the end.” 

An echo of that earlier shriek rang in his ears. Ciel drew his fingers once more through Sebastian’s hair, on the side of his head near his temple. He did not feel horns, but that did not mean they were not there. 

“Well,” Ciel said, at length, as Sebastian re-positioned his eyepatch and tied it with nimble fingers, “I hope I don’t scream in the same fashion as Danvers, when the time comes. That was most undignified.” 

Sebastian took the feather that was lying on the ground and tucked it into the band on Ciel’s tophat, which had tumbled to the floor along with Ciel. He smoothed Ciel’s messy hair with gentle fingers, and then settled the hat on top of his head. Sebastian’s hands came to rest on Ciel’s shoulders, and Ciel startled as he felt talons digging into the fabric of his coat. 

He opened his mouth to snap a warning to be careful of the coat, that he was quite fond of it…but any such words died on his lips the moment he saw his demon’s face. 

Sebastian’s expression was so intense, so _possessive_ and hungry, Ciel felt his mouth go dry. “Oh, no, young master,” Sebastian breathed, his inhuman voice imbued with that dark vibrato, his fingers tracing almost lovingly over Ciel’s cheek, his jaw. “Yours will be so much _worse_.” 

A chill took him before Ciel could stop it, and he reached out and tapped Sebastian on the side of the face -- not a slap, but close. “I am not yet on the menu, demon. Didn’t that snack ruin your appetite at least a little? That’s what you are forever telling me, when I wish to have one before a meal.” 

“No, my lord. Swallowing his soul has only made me _hungrier_ for yours, there was nothing… _fulfilling_ about it.” 

“Oh.” Ciel held his hand out for his walking stick. “So not a meat pie, then, Danvers.”

“It would seem not,” Sebastian agreed, handing Ciel his walking stick and rising gracefully to his feet. “A momentary sweet that is ultimately unsatisfying -- but enjoyable, all the same.” 

“Rather like an Italian ice,” Ciel murmured, and Sebastian’s laugh was wicked and dark. 

“I shall have to sate my _hunger_ for you in another fashion, my lord,” Sebastian purred. “Besides, your demon wishes to express his gratitude for the gift you bestowed to him.” 

That odd disconnect was gone, as if Sebastian and the _other_ had melded seamlessly back together. Into a horrible, smiling, evil demon; but, as the saying went, better the devil you know….

“I would hope so, Sebastian. Fiend of Hell you may be, but that is no excuse not to have manners.” 

“Indeed, my lord.” Sebastian politely arranged Ciel’s overcoat to cover the evidence of his earlier _enjoyment_. “Before you summon the Yard, perhaps we should arrange Danvers’ demise to look a bit less like the ritualistic murder of an unarmed man.”

Ciel scowled at that. “He had a gun, Sebastian. You saw him aim it in the direction of my head.” 

“Yes,” Sebastian agreed. “He did indeed have a gun, young master, though I would say he _pointed_ it rather than aimed. What he did not have, however, were any _bullets_. You are not the sort to expire when having a weapon brandished in your face, I did not think.” 

“You might have told me that before,” Ciel huffed, striding over to poke at Danvers’ limp, prone form with his stick. The man’s face was still arranged in an expression of horror, which was mildly unsettling. 

“Would it have changed your decision, my lord? Would you have commanded me show mercy, if you had known you were in no real danger?” 

Ciel looked down at the cards on the table, and picked up the king of spades. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Sebastian. Now, move him so that I may provide a cause of death more believable than _demonic soul removal_.” 

Sebastian said nothing, merely arranged the body to Ciel’s specification and watched, hands clasped politely behind his back, as Ciel withdrew his pistol and fired twice; sending one bullet into Danvers’ right knee, and another right between his empty, dead eyes. 

“Go and alert the Yard to our presence, Sebastian,” Ciel ordered, idly shuffling the deck of cards. “I shall wait here.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Ciel finished shuffling and turned over a card, scowling as he saw what it was. Somehow, the ace of spades was back in the deck. 

_Damn demon. Bloody showoff._

* * * 

“And why exactly did you shoot him?” Randall asked, his features twisted with suspicion and thinly-veiled dislike -- his usual expression, when conversing with the Queen’s Watchdog. 

“He was trying to keep me from exposing him to the authorities for extortion,” said Ciel, in a thoroughly bored voice. “Which, as you might imagine, led to an attack upon my person. As you can see, Inspector, I did try and aim for somewhere less vital -- his knee -- but unfortunately, his desperation got the better of him and I was forced to take a more lethal shot.” 

Randall stared at him without speaking for a good two or three seconds, then said in a soft voice, “If that’s the truth, then he must have been very desperate, indeed, Lord Phantomhive. Considering those bullet wounds were clearly inflicted when Stuart Danvers was _already dead_.” 

“I am not sure what you are implying, Inspector,” said Ciel, “or why you are bothering to question me. This nuisance to her majesty has been removed, and I see no reason to tarry further and discuss the matter, simply because you cannot properly word a report. I have done my part, and now you may do yours.” 

Sebastian stood behind him, tall and imposing like a sentinel. In the now-bright room, his shadow was cast on the floor beside Ciel’s own, as it should be. 

“Yes, you have certainly _done your part_ , Phantomhive. Without a care how it was done, as always,” said Randall, stiffly, drawing himself up to his full height; even his mustache seemed to be quivering with moral outrage. “You do know what they say about _the end justifies the means_ , Lord Phantomhive. That particular philosophy is the Devil’s favorite thing to teach.” 

“It is?” Ciel said, blandly, blinking one wide eye at the Inspector. “And here, I always thought it was Latin. Sebastian, what do you think?”  
“Oh, I imagine there are many things the Devil might enjoy teaching a willing student,” Sebastian said smoothly, from behind him. “One might even say there are _legion_.” 

Ciel would have sworn there were _horns_ on Sebastian’s shadow, on either side of his head -- but when he looked over his shoulder, there were none. “Come, Sebastian. I should like to get home, we’ve quite missed teatime and I am famished.” 

“Indeed. Perhaps my lord wishes to stop for a meat pie?” Sebastian’s grin was sinful. 

“No,” said Ciel, his own slight smile just as wicked. “I was thinking more like an Italian ice perhaps. I wouldn’t wish to ruin my appetite.” 

Sebastian’s laugh reminded Ciel of a piano that was just a bit out of tune; you could recognize the bare bones of the melody, knew what it was supposed to be -- but somehow, no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t manage to sing along.


End file.
